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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641030">Traumatized</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostinfantasies38/pseuds/Lostinfantasies38'>Lostinfantasies38</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek &amp; Paul/Levenson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood, Character Study, Gen, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, I don't know why I wrote this, I'm so sorry, Intrusive Thoughts, One Shot, Please Forgive me, Sibling Relationship, Suicide Attempt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:35:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostinfantasies38/pseuds/Lostinfantasies38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor believes the world would be better off without him in it. <i>Zoe</i> would be better off. He can't do it anymore, so he chooses to let go.</p><p>Zoe may not have the best relationship with her brother, but she doesn't hate him. Not really. She's not sure where things went wrong, but she'll be damned if she lets him give up now.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor Murphy &amp; Zoe Murphy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Traumatized</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A character study of Connor and Zoe on the worst day of their lives. Be warned - it's not an easy read. It was even harder to write. Note to self: never write while sleep-deprived and listening to depressing music at 4 AM. </p><p>I'll return with my regularly scheduled soft bois soon, but I had to get this off my chest. I almost didn't post it because it's all angst and it's <b>heavy</b>, but I did anyway. Let me know how you feel about it in the comments.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>Hollow cheeks and haunted eyes perpetually rimmed red stared at him in the mirror. Studying his reflection critically, he noted how emaciated he’d become; his disordered eating habits and shitty coping mechanisms left him gaunt and eerily pale. He couldn’t remember the last time the sun warmed his skin for longer than a few seconds, unfurling its welcome heat into his bones. Years, probably.</p><p>Rolling up his sleeves, he dispassionately stared at the marks littering his forearms. A patchwork of fresh slashes among a backdrop of pink and silver. With trembling fingers he popped the button of his jeans and stepped out of them, taking in his ruined thighs, fists blanching at his sides. He could hide his legs easily enough, but it insulted him that family members never noticed his arms anytime his sleeves rose too high.</p><p>It’s not like Connor wanted to be called out on his self-mutilation, but the fact that no one knew, or worse, gave a fuck cut deeper than any blade. Then again, he couldn’t say he was surprised by their disinterest. They stopped caring for his well-being when they began viewing him as a monster.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Trauma changes, rearranges</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Takes the man I was and breaks him</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to hate them for thinking it, but truthfully, he hated himself more. He <em>was</em> a monster. A beast who lost control at the drop of a dime, threatening to kill the only person he’d ever loved. The one he swore from birth to protect. Now he’s Zoe’s worst nightmare — a terrorizer and an abuser. He became the very thing he promised to guard her against, and he couldn't blame her for despising him.</p><p>Christ, it’s not like he <em>wanted</em> to be this way. He lost track of how often he’d begged and pleaded for help, screaming himself hoarse every time Larry shot him down. His father blamed pot and alcohol for his behavior instead of recognizing that Connor was seriously ill, dealing with his fragile mental health the only way he could.</p><p>The constant stream of taunts and whispers as he passed his classmates didn’t help him in maintaining his tenuous hold on his sanity.</p><p>
  <em>Freak. Stoner. Psychopath. School shooter.</em>
</p><p>He’d heard it all so often he should be immune, but some things would always wound.</p><p>By sophomore year he’d given up hope of therapy or medication to stabilize him and turned to razors to purge his self-loathing through cathartic bloodletting. After rehab last year he started gouging canyons into his scrawny thighs knowing nobody would ever see them. Hell, even his infrequent hookups never saw him naked. He fully planned on no one seeing the physical manifestation of his pain until he died.</p><p>Today was that day.</p><p>After his run-in with Hansen in the computer lab, he decided not to wait for Zoe’s jazz practice to finish. Her absence allowed him to smoke a joint on the walk home and briefly forget the heavy weight of Evan’s letter in his pocket while he ironed out the details. Pulling the crumpled note from his jacket, he read it for the third time, still amazed that the weird kid he barely knew could succinctly capture his feelings, right down to his sister.</p><p>Shaking his head with a small scowl, Connor dropped the letter on the counter. He couldn’t focus on Evan’s obvious crush on Zoe when he wouldn’t be able to do shit about it. Besides, Zoe was a big girl; she could take care of herself regarding the neurotic mess. Connor had outlived his usefulness.</p><p>Shrugging off his hoodie and shirt with grim determination, he chose to retain some of his goddamn dignity, leaving his black boxer briefs on as he turned off the water in the half-filled tub. Without hesitation, Connor picked up the fresh blade, fascinated by the malicious glint of the fluorescent light along the edge.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'd rather feel nothing at all</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Than have to deal with all the pain inside my heart</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Steeling his resolve, he clambered into the scalding water with a hiss, enjoying the burn of his skin as the level rose higher around his gangly frame. His Catholic mother would call it penance for what he was about to do, though he wasn’t religious enough to believe it himself. He didn’t have any opinions on heaven or hell. If they existed, he knew where he was going, but he found he didn’t care. Anywhere was better than here.</p><p>And yeah, most people would call him a selfish asshole for thinking such things, and he was one. He wasn’t about to deny it, but he wasn’t some privileged bastard with fake problems he exploited for attention. His issues were real and unmanaged, and they were literally destroying him.</p><p>Death was better. It was a release. It was freedom. It was a goddamn <em>end</em> to his misery.</p><p>It wasn’t purely selfish, either. Without Connor around to disrupt their lives, his family could heal. Zoe would be safe from his changeable personality, and with the undivided attention of Cynthia and Larry, she would blossom into someone truly special. He hated that he’d miss watching her grow and get married and have kids, but it was better this way.</p><p>He was a ticking time bomb, and she was the last good thing in his life. By dying now, he was saving her from the blast radius of his eventual detonation. She’d mourn for him, but she wouldn’t be riddled with shrapnel, carrying little bits of him forever.</p><p>This was a clean break.</p><p>Unacknowledged tears streamed down his face with the first kiss of the blade. The crystal clear water instantly turned pink as blood pooled around him. His arm felt strangely disconnected and his fingers spasmed feebly.</p><p>Wonderful: nerve damage. But he hadn’t come this far for nothing. With difficulty, he forced his weakened hand to grip the razor and raked it along his other arm. It wasn’t as deep as the first one, but that didn’t matter.</p><p>Dropping the razor, he vaguely registered the crimson bathwater as it congealed against his chilled skin. It wouldn’t take long, he knew, gritting his teeth against the vicious waves of agony radiating from his ravaged nerve endings.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as his head thumped against the back of the tub.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>All I ever wanted was to be loved by somebody</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the man I used to be is so far gone</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Circling through memories</em>
</p><p>
  <em>All this trauma gets me trembling</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No, I can't let you in, it's been too long</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The man I used to be is dead and gone</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Zoe stormed inside the house, tossing aside her bag in the entryway. Damn Connor for leaving without telling her. After waiting ten minutes past the band’s early release, she gave up and came home.</p><p>He was probably getting high with his dealer or whoever the hell he hung out with when he wasn’t home. Fine, whatever. She wasn’t his damned keeper. She told Mom this would happen and surprise, surprise, she’d been right.</p><p>Groaning in aggravation, she took the stairs two at a time, aiming for her room on the right when she reached the landing until the half-cocked bathroom door caught her eye. She remembered leaving it open after brushing her teeth this morning, and she definitely turned off the light.</p><p>A cold sweat broke out across her skin as her feet woodenly carried her in the opposite direction of her sanctuary. Her senses were on high alert for danger, but nothing could prepare her for the sight of her brother floating in a scarlet sea, dark hair fanning behind him like a flag in stark contrast to his gray complexion.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Showed this broken down body of bones</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That this life is worth it</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Connor!”</p><p>Leaping forward, Zoe tugged his limp body out of the tub with a surge of adrenaline. Her wet hands scrambled for her phone, using Siri to call 911 and relay their address in a blind panic, pressing ridiculously expensive Egyptian cotton towels to stanch what she could of the blood gushing from his arms at an alarming rate.</p><p>“Please hurry,” she sobbed to the dispatcher. “Oh my God, please! His lips are blue and there is so much... I can’t get it to stop! Connor, you bastard, you can’t die on me! Not like this. I don’t hate you. I’m scared of you and I’m scared <em>for</em> you, but I love you, you asshole!”</p><p>Dropping her forehead to his chest, she realized with dread it was barely moving. What happened to the boy who used to hold her during thunderstorms, humming Irish folk songs in her ear? Who built blanket forts in the living room on movie nights, filling the interior with so many pillows there was barely room to sit? For most of her life, his arms were her safe space because she knew he would always be there whenever she needed him. She knew he was still somewhere inside, but right now she was terrified and he couldn’t offer support because it was <em>his</em> blood saturating her clothes.</p><p>“Stay with me, big brother. Please, please, please,” Zoe whispered desperately. “I promise I’ll be there for you, just don’t leave me alone.”</p><p>A siren blared through the neighborhood and she wept as her gaze raked over his haggard features. He’d always been angular, bordering on sharp, but sprawled like a corpse on the tile, he was softer. Bruises ringed hidden stormy eyes, lips that used to shoot her mischievous grins were chapped and permanently etched into a frown. The curly hair she’d always envied was hopelessly tangled, and he was thin enough to count his ribs.</p><p>What happened to them? How did she miss how much he was hurting?</p><p>Connor had no one to support him. They failed him.</p><p>Yes, he hurt her over the years; he hurt them all, but his issues weren’t created in a vacuum. They came from somewhere, becoming increasingly worse after years of neglect until he convinced himself the only way to solve the problem was to die. That somehow they’d be better off without him. That <em>she’d</em> be better off.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'm a time bomb that's ticking away</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Still you're holding my hand</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You idiot,” she whispered. “You honestly think I wouldn’t miss your good-for-nothing ass? Jesus, Connor…”</p><p>Her apology caught in her throat, dry and sour, like stale wine. She knew she should say the words, but a secret part of her feared he might hear and take them as acceptance, and she wasn’t about to give him an excuse to let go.</p><p>Paramedics crashed through the house, startling her from her morbid thoughts. “Upstairs! Please hurry!”</p><p>In seconds, they herded her in the hallway as they strapped him to a board with an oxygen mask and snapped tourniquets on his arms. She gave them his name and age, rapidly explaining the situation as they flew down the stairs.</p><p>Cynthia Murphy met them in the driveway, shock and terror cracking her carefully crafted facade at the sight of her son hanging by a thread and her daughter reenacting Carrie’s prom scene.</p><p>“Connor! Oh my God! Zoe, what…”</p><p>Pushing her to the ambulance, Zoe asked which hospital they were going to and promised her mom she’d catch up. “I’ll call Dad. Go with Connor, Mom. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”</p><p>“But —”</p><p>“No! Damn it, we’ve ignored him enough! Stay with him and give him a reason to fight! I’ll meet you there after I’ve called Dad.”</p><p>Slamming the door of the ambulance, she crossed her arms and watched through the small window as an EMT hopped on his lap and started chest compressions. Cynthia held his lifeless hand as clumps of mascara ran along her ashen face, the gravity of the situation hitting her with the force of a train. Once they turned a corner, Zoe’s knees buckled, and she rocked in time with her guttural sobs.</p><p>The last half hour replayed like disjointed images from a horror movie. Connor floating in the tub, the pulse of hot blood seeping through the towels, the myriad scars on long limbs she barely registered at the time, but would haunt her for the rest of her life.</p><p>Connor would survive and they’d all be okay. She <em>had</em> to believe that. It was the only fucking hope she had left.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered as she dug her nails into stained palms and prayed for a miracle.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>If I don't make it through the night</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don't forget me</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Keep me in your memory</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let me be your favorite angel</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just keep on moving on</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Remember</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That life always gets better</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cry for me but</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Promise, Darling</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You'll keep on staying strong</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Songs: </p><p>Nathan Wagner - <i>Trauma</i> - Connor's POV</p><p>Nathan Wagner - <i>Don't Forget Me</i> - Zoe's POV</p></blockquote></div></div>
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